Unquiet Intervention
by Miss Atropine
Summary: Act 2 of 2 [Romantic Horror] The barber, the baker, the... unquiet undertaker. After fleeing the macabre turn of events in London, the barber and his baker decide to settle for a fresh start in a thriving seaside town. The only thing is, evil seems to cling to their skin like some kind of wretched disease. Perhaps evil does indeed, come at a price?
1. Terrible Things

**Unquiet Intervention**

 **Terrible Things**

Only Heaven knew what had truly caused the elusive riot that had erupted along the streets surrounding 186 Fleet Street on that fearful night in late January.

Or perhaps, it was _Hell?_

No one knew of the maddening hunger that infected the minds of the loyal customers that had once ritualistically eaten at Mrs Lovett's Pie Emporium. But those unfortunate souls who had happened upon the scenes of the public feasting on one another until there was nothing left but _bone..._ they soon quickly tried to escape the cobbles of Fleet Street.

Some were successful.

Others... _not so much._

If anyone had even bothered to bat an eye, or had listened to those fighting their urges to tear off any human skin they came across, then the events of that fateful night may have turned out incredibly different.

But of course, nobody listened.

The authorities, with their crease-less navy-blue uniforms and tarnished medals, all loaded their muskets without warning and shot down any irrational-looking civilian who approached their make-shift barricades.

The sickly streets became more like a bloodbath that would often be seen at the after-math of a pointless battle, rather than some kind of outcry or disagreement. Rivers of red trickled down the hollow nooks between cobbles and flooded aimlessly down the side-gutters.

The scatter of motionless bodies made it clear that there wasn't a single survivor left - they were either half-eaten, or had been completely peppered with bullets.

The smell of gunpowder still clung to the air, like the sullen reminder of cowardice that never wished to leave. The streets, for once, were completely silent. The feeling of grief and shock seemed to cling to the smog-filled sky that night, like even nature knew of the terrors that had occurred.

It appeared that the city itself, was in a feeble state of mourning.

* * *

Slide.

Draw.

Strike.

 _Fire._

If one was to hypnotically stare into its very lucid, amber-ish core, it would likely destroy every scrap of existence that a being once knew.

And that's why no one ever found a single _scrap_ of evidence that actually pointed to the many people of London being stark-raving _cannibals._ The fact that the authorities and papers called out the travesty as nothing more than a _riot_ of angered citizens... well, it provided the _perfect_ cover.

But of course, the source of the towering flames hadn't just been some minor repercussion of a so-called 'riot' breaking out. If anyone had truly cared enough, they would have realised that the fire had been _purposely_ started...

... from the dingiest depths of Eleanor Lovett's bake-house.

The bodies of deceased feral customers were the first to be swallowed up by the unholy flames, and the swift spreading of the fire created a convenient wall between the lifeless shop above... and the filthy sewers down below.

Noxious flesh-melting fumes and ominous swirls of black smoke engulfed the entire of Mrs Lovett's former establishment, along with the majority of buildings and slum streets close-by. The path of flames consumed every flesh-stripper and innocent within its destructive path, until nothing was left but thin scatterings of ash and cinders.

All that _death,_ all that _destruction..._

... formed from a single flickering match.

Even the arsonist themselves was struggling to get away from the path of ruthless flames they had created. The sewers had been their only possibility of survival.

Thick, gashed leather boots smacked against the ground as the culprit speedily snatched at their chance to escape. Bodies were still lodged in the side-gutters and awaited the arrival of the warm licks of untamed fire, which wasn't all too far away now...

The perpetrator could hear the lull in the chaos and panic in the streets now that nothing but sinister silence flooded in through the iron drains above. Their footsteps slapped across the thin layer of sewer water rhythmically, their movements growing faster and faster with each of their anxious breaths.

The echoes of voices bounced between the pipe-lined walls - though it wasn't clear whether it was something real, or completely imagined. The person seemed to be on high alert due to their desperation for escape... then again, perhaps it was just the disturbing surroundings of the sewers alone that was messing with their mind.

As they fled further and further away from the spitting orange of the hungry flames, they delved deeper into the desolate, decrepit tunnels beneath the city of London.

The eerie voices seemed to get louder and more distorted, so much so, that the person let out a sharp intake of breath and pressed their bloodied hands to their ears. They squinted their eyes, wishing for the tremendous noises to stop. Somehow, they managed to keep on dashing forward.

The flames were fast approaching now... so it was only logical for the person to start darting their bloodshot eyes about, looking for a hatch - or rather _anything_ \- to escape the hell that was the London sewer system. They knew the map of the tunnels like the back of their hand... and therefore, knew that there was no chance of _outrunning_ the blazing fire.

The scent of burning had mixed into the sewer-stench of decay now, and for that they could only choke harshly, sensing that the deadly smoke would soon enthusiastically fill their lungs.

The viper-like whispers they'd been deafened by, soon eased out of their eardrums, like each soul had gotten sick of tormenting them with incoherent mutterings. Their hands dropped from their ears in order so that they could swing their arms in time to their strides, yet their eyes narrowed again once they realised that the voices had only been replaced with the loud snapping of the rampant fire behind them instead.

 _Panic set in._

They brayed their tired legs harder, faster. Their pants grew harsh and ragged, their wide grey eyes piercing every wisp of smoke through the dark, hollow tunnel ahead of them. Escape seemed futile, but they kept on running, regardless of what they believed.

What they _knew._

The rusty, copper pipes flew by either side of their peripheral vision, cutting into their focus like it was a deliberate act of disorientation.

Perhaps this was it. This was their punishment after everything they'd endured, everything they'd _committed._

But this couldn't be the end.

Not now. They'd barely just begun.

There was no way they were giving up this easily.

They'd already fought _fearlessly_...

... there was no reason why they couldn't fight again.

* * *

 **A/N It's far later than I planned but here it is, the start of Act 2 :) Sorry for the massive wait, I've just been planning a hell of a lot and working on the direction I want to take this, so I really hope that you'll like what I've got in store. I couldn't resist just posting this short prologue, so please enjoy the next chapter too. It won't be too long until the next update, thank you for reading, as always! :)**


	2. Roots

**Unquiet Intervention**

 **Roots**

Settling down in the town of Blackpool had been far easier than either barber or baker could have imagined.

To their surprise, there were a hefty number of new developments that had been built on the curve of the coastline... the town itself was upcoming, but appeared to be fairly deserted now that it was early February. Given that the winter months brought shivering winds and icy showers, no person in their right mind would brave the seaside.

Just a few unhappy sleeps after hurriedly arriving there, they'd ended up with a terrace house which was only a short walk away from the loud bustle of the bay. Eleanor had been slightly disappointed that there hadn't been any houses on the sea-front... but in the end, was grateful that their new home was set back and thankfully out of the way of any prying eyes.

The paperwork for their finances and rent would still be processing at the bank for a while, considering that their new landlord was currently _'Away On Business'._ That fact alone, would have appeared _suspicious_ to any bystander, but both Mrs Lovett and Mr Todd were thankful for the landlord's absence. After all, they could write any old thing down on their forms... so there was no harm in pretending that they were already married - they wouldn't even have to face their proprietor or put up a mask of deviance, it was considerably _easier_ than they had expected.

As soon as they both found themselves at the foot of their new doorstep, with a doe-eyed Toby (who was still contently using Eleanor's coat as a safety blanket by wrapping it around him) reluctantly on their trail, the curtains of every other house on the street seemed to twitch. While Sweeney had been oblivious to the spying neighbours, it was Eleanor that felt the urge to look back over her shoulder - she could sense beady eyes on her, and couldn't wait to get inside their new home just to get away from them.

In London she would have just rolled her eyes at her nosy neighbours, but this place was completely new to her, as were the snooping strangers. Already, Eleanor Lovett felt that she was silently being alienated.

Luckily, once she turned her attention back to their shiny front door, she could only smile at the sight of Sweeney now ardently hurrying through it, their make-do bags slung over his shoulder. She knew he was keen on settling down somewhere. Or perhaps, keen to find somewhere to _hide_... in his mind they were still on the run, so having a reliable place to stay made it a lot simpler.

Once she was inside, she felt like she'd entered some kind of twisted _mirage._ The house, at first, seemed a lot more cramped than she was used to... but she realised that in some ways, it might have ended up being a lot more cosy. The walls were papered with various faded patterns of tainted silvers and greys - it couldn't quite be described as _inspiring,_ but she certainly thought that it was better than that half-burnt stuff she'd had on her walls back on Fleet Street.

It was like walking into an uninspiring monochrome world, where everything from the bedrooms upstairs, to the parlour, kitchen and dining room downstairs, was designed for nothing but practicality. _She couldn't help being reminded of someone..._

The fireplace was yet to be blackened with soot, the stove yet to be lit, the bookshelf yet to be filled, the bed-covers yet to be rumpled. In short, the place screamed that it was dying for occupants, and to know that they were the first to occupy this particular house, made her smile slightly. Not many people had the chance to live in a completely new build.

Having said that, it was a house that wasn't quite home just yet. But she could sense potential, and little did she know, that so could Mr Todd.

Having said that, over that first week of settling in, he'd been an absolute _nightmare..._ paranoid, some might say.

Paranoid was an _understatement._

He'd been more distant than usual - she'd hardly see him all day and then he'd suddenly appear for food, or slip under the bed-sheets beside her when the clock's needle was almost marking midnight. She thought nothing of it, being the man that he was, he was probably off _sulking_ until god-knows what hour.

But when the second week beckoned to begin, his actions became more apparent and oddly suspicious.

As Sweeney Todd pushed on, with what Eleanor presumed to be _dire_ ailments to the house every here and there, make-shift _mechanisms_ started to appear. Mechanisms that were cleverly concealed, and in such numbers that Eleanor couldn't help feeling slightly bewildered. She was clueless as to what had brought all of his frenzied paranoia on - if they had settled closer to London, then she would have understood. She could only presume that he didn't trust the town of Blackpool one bit. The two of them had only settled there for a week so far, without talking to another soul, of course - there was no way that he could have made a fair judgement about the place yet.

But apparently he'd made up his mind... he absolutely _hated_ the place already.

Eleanor wasn't one to say anything, despite her subconscious knowing that his paranoid actions were getting slightly out of hand. On this particular day, he'd been working for hours on end, upstairs in the attic, making god-awful loud sounds with the blunt butt of his hammer - naturally she'd decided against questioning him. Then again, she'd supposed that he had to cater to his violent tendencies somehow, so she'd settled on leaving him be.

She had no idea what the hell the man was up to, but she was glad of his company now that it was into the early hours of the evening. He was still busy fixing up the fireplace with something or other... it was more than a little worrying that she wasn't even verbally questioning him about it. Then again, she _was_ internally slightly unnerved but she didn't seem to care either way now that she was in his presence.

She was sprawled out in the most comfortable position she could find over the leather settee - which had been one of about ten items that had already been inside the house when they'd first arrived. Internally, Eleanor was thrilled that such a comfy piece of furniture was now hers, it was a luxury item that she'd never dreamed of ever actually owning.

Then again, she'd merely _dreamed_ of being with the demon barber not so many months ago.

And look at the two of them now.

She leaned on her side, dark jade skirts splayed and auburn hair messily trailing down her shoulder-blades, her droopy eyelids gave away that she was slightly intoxicated by the sight of the barber before her.

He was crouched down with the sleeves of his off-white shirt rolled up to his elbows, the skin of his forearms coated with thick smudges of charcoal. His black hair was unkempt more than usual and the odd lock had twisted out from the rest of his hair to frame his face. He had one of his arms lodged up the chimney, violently chiselling away at brick and concrete. He gave out grunts of effort now and again, which seemed to always cause Eleanor to bite her lip.

The two of them hadn't exactly been chattering all that much that first week they had moved there... but they may as well have been _strangers_ on this particular day. She'd barely seen him for hours until he'd finally appeared when it was time for dinner, which was _utterly_ typical of him.

Of course, he'd probably left whatever he wished to work on downstairs until last, _purposely._ Either because it was in favour of him getting some supper with a glass of gin... or perhaps, something _else._

Only faint embers of flickering candles sparsely lit up the parlour, causing dim shadows to slice across the floorboards. The atmosphere was somewhat snug despite the fact that it was deadly silent, not counting the metallic scraping of Sweeney's infernal _chiselling,_ of course. It was surprising how dismal the room was, which was unfortunate because it seemed to conjure up memories of London, and Eleanor didn't want to remember anything about that place at that moment in time...

She'd done rather well forgetting about certain parts so far.

"These walls are a lot drearier now it's gotten so dark." she hinted, her sing-song voice laced with such airy positivity. "Nothin' that a bit'a lightin' wouldn't fix, eh dear?"

He completely ignored her, continuing to chisel away at the sullen grey brickwork. He'd heard her loud and clear - in all honesty, he preferred working in the dim light, it acted like some sort of dark blanket of concentration for him.

 _The sooner he got this job done, the better._

"What's gotten inta you, Mr T?" she finally breathed, rolling her shoulder-blades back so that she could stretch her back slightly. "You've barely said a syllable all day, an' I've barely _seen_ ya f'that matter. What've ya been gettin' up to?"

He grunted in response and there was a brief pause - but that was probably only to change the tool he was using. It was confirmed when the slight metallic scrape of the chisel dropping onto the concrete floor sounded out... Eleanor just rolled her eyes in slight annoyance.

His actions soon grated her nerves even more when he started thwacking his hammer against the brickwork instead of answering her. After the first few militant strikes, a few clumps of congealed soot fell down from the chimney breast, and onto his shoulders, to which he gave out one begrudging cough.

Her eyes trailed over him again as he continued to work, and internally she yearned for him to turn around and focus on her. She could feel herself getting slightly over-warm as she studied the slight outline of his back-muscles through the back of his shirt. She'd forgotten how strong he was at times, but she'd certainly remembered now that a hot wave swept over her.

"Can't all this 'ousework wait for t'night?" she huffed out, unknowingly wearing a sulk that gave away how much she craved his attention. Could he not just give all of it a rest for once?

Sweeney suddenly froze, neck and shoulders visibly tensed with irritation. The dense slam of a hammer's head hitting the cement floor of the fireplace only confirmed that for some reason, Eleanor had struck some kind of _nerve._ As soon as she'd heard the hammer striking the ground, her brown eyes flickered towards him. Rage emanated from him, _seethed_ out from him... and seeped into her, in the most pleasant waves imaginable.

She hid her mischievous smile for the time being, knowing that she couldn't possibly allow him to know how much she adored his anger. She loved how it _consumed_ him, sent him stark-raving mad then soon, into a dark alluring frenzy that, in the end, was inescapable and unintentionally attractive.

After a few seconds where he appeared to pause in his tensed state, he swiftly turned himself around to face her, his black eyes narrowed in accusation. Sharp shadows fell across his pallid cheekbones, and suddenly, she felt unbelievably thankful for the weak candle-light. His mouth briefly twitched, like he was attempting to say what was on his mind... yet the sight of her affectionate eyes forced him to hinder his actions. The irritation was still present in his demeanour, but the fact he had already begun to shuffle out of the chimney breast gave away that she'd managed to lure him in.

She'd finally caught his attention.

It had been quite a while since he'd stared at her with such blatant intensity. His obsidian eyes caused her heart to pound erratically - she hoped that he could hear her anticipation... perhaps if he did, his anger would subside.

As he advanced towards her, it was like time had slowed slightly. Eleanor dared not breathe in fears that doing such a thing would somehow stop him from stepping any closer.

She was suddenly glad that she had the settee beneath her to support herself, for her legs began to shake with pleasant apprehension. Even though her face began to flush pink she somehow managed to confidently meet his black eyes - she didn't even falter once he'd gotten a hell of a lot closer.

Without a word, he placed both hands over the pale skin of her shoulders - the feel of his hands over her bare skin was something she'd not felt for a while. A sigh escaped her. Even though he'd administered a slight push so that she'd fall backwards, his violent intention did not upset her. In fact, it _excited_ her.

Her chest heaved with every deep intake of breath, her body splayed flat over the settee in a manner that could be seen as some kind of acceptance... or _surrender._

He lowered himself down at a nonchalant pace, soon blatantly pressing himself over her. His expression was still cold with annoyance, but his eyes disclosed that he truly wanted to seek _her._ And her alone.

He shuffled himself against her slowly, and she couldn't help fluttering her eyes as a consequence. An inquisitive frown touched upon his brow as one of his hands found its way to her side, brazenly sliding around her rib to fidget with her dress fastenings.

"The lad might 'ear..." she whispered worriedly, interrupting the comforting silence that had fallen between them. He narrowed his eyes at her, and sunk down her body slightly, deliberately brushing against her front.

"You can be _quiet_ for me, pet, can't you?" he whispered against her earlobe, soon manipulating her to share his opinion by dipping his head down to part his lips over her neck. She whimpered as quietly as she could when his mouth opened further, his tongue gently lapping over her throat's pulsating flesh.

It was quite clear from the way he eagerly teased her that he wished to distract her from what she'd inquired. He didn't want her asking any more questions about what he'd been doing. The man _revelled_ in being a great mystery at times... and he often did spiteful things to keep it that way.

She sighed out an undisputed _"Yes"_ and as soon as he heard the answer he'd been waiting for, he carefully took his lips from her skin. He then slid himself over her a little more so that he could look at her more squarely.

They stared into one another's eyes, both of them suddenly reminded of their underlying darkness, how it latched onto them and chained them together. _Bound_ them to a shared evil that only the two of them truly understood. It was hypnotic to study, because the two of them were both amazed how such simmering sin still presented itself before them. How even through all of the hectic escape from London, and of course, the gruesome scheme that had come before... they still awaited more chaos, so they could batter it away together like they were a couple who yearned for a battle with toxic destruction.

It was undeniably true that they may have been perfect for one another, but it seemed that it was the world around them that paid the price.

It was no wonder that they could peer at each other for so long... they were just getting lost in all that chaos all over again.

His face lowered closer to hers again so that his vacuous black irises could closely stare her brown eyes down like they were the most fascinating thing in the universe. To him, she was the most incredible woman he'd ever encountered... of course, he'd never _tell_ her that.

At last, with nothing but the backing track of their slow, heavy breaths, their mouths finally pressed together. They kissed slowly, reluctantly allowing their eyelids to cover their eyes. Eleanor managed to reach one of her hands across her chest to tug at the collar of his shirt, forcing him to kiss her deeper. He winced and murmured slightly against her lips, like he was surprised by how eager she was... it was that, or he was internally _bugged._ Yet he abided by her and reacted to her kisses more aggressively, tensing his body as he snatched hold of her free arm.

She whimpered as his hand closed around her wrist tightly, pinning her down to the glum leather that laid beneath her. The other continued what it had previously started and she could already feel the material of her dress loosening around her shoulders.

It was strange how a week without having her like this made such a difference to him. He realised that he'd unknowingly missed her, and for that reason alone, it was clear that he must have had something more worrying weighing on his mind. His behaviour had been overly stiff and quiet for a number of days, but Eleanor hadn't said a word about it.

She knew it was likely to be his mind still trying to process what had truly happened to his daughter back in London. After all, he'd had his child back one moment, then she'd outright sacrificed herself in the next.

It was no wonder that he'd distanced himself from Eleanor for a few days.

Yet he seemed _perfectly_ capable of paying her attention now, therefore something within his warped mind must have come to terms with what had happened. She certainly wasn't _complaining._

She arched her back upwards to make it easier for him to free her from her thick fabric prison. As his fingers grew more insistent against the clasps and laces, his growls of effort grew in volume. She murmured against his mouth in response and that only made his fingers work harder. Eventually, his patience had finally worn thin and he practically stripped the dress away from her skin once the last lace had been slackened.

She giggled into his mouth at his impatient actions, and he briefly took his lips away from her so that he could hear her glorious laughter ring out.

"What 'appened to bein' _quiet?"_ he breathed by her ear, frowning at her like he was undeniably disappointed in her. Of course, she knew he was just playing games with her - in the end his playfulness only made her laugh even harder.

"I'll only be quiet when we're _married."_ she shot back, whispering the last word like it was some kind of _expletive_ to Sweeney's ears. His frown deepened and he took his hand from the back of her to hold himself up above her, just so he could look at her more directly... rather, _authoritatively._

"We've only been 'ere a _week_ and we've already got somewhere to _live,_ Eleanor. What more do you want?" he replied sternly, yet his eyes still presented glints of amusement towards her. Even though she knew he was only poking fun at her, it still made her heart ache that little bit more than she would have liked.

All fun seemed to dry up for her there and then. When would he ever learn to stop messing whenever it came to the two of them and what they were to one another?

"I wanna know why you've been sabotagin' the 'ouse with god awful deathtraps, Mr T." she accidentally let slip, her eyes still staring straight into his without an ounce of consideration in the world. Internally she was scolding herself, she knew she'd waded into eminently murky waters with what she'd just admitted.

He hesitated and his playful demeanour cracked into something reminiscent of guilt. She couldn't quite decipher whether it was a _mask_ or not... if it was, it was an extremely convincing one.

"Well we can't 'ave the boy gettin' out of 'ere of his own volition - "

She let out a loud huff of resentment before he could finish, and immediately reacted by shoving him off of her with all her might - which sent him flying across to the other end of the settee. His guilty expression had changed to one of confused anger when he realised that she was sitting back up to fasten her dress.

"What do you think you're doing?" he questioned, like he actually believed that the baker was somehow in the _wrong._

"What do ya _think?!_ I'm gonna go round this bleedin' 'ouse and get rid'a them all. Can't 'ave them everywhere, what if we end up 'avin' _guests?!"_

 _"No."_ he merely answered in a threatening tone, catching deathly hold of her forearm just as she was in the middle of standing up. She fiercely fought his grip but he was too persuasive with his painful finger-pads. She reluctantly slung herself back down onto the settee and he immediately slid himself across to sit beside her, hand still gripping her arm in place tightly.

He studied her face with interest, noticing that her jaw was clenched to likely stop herself from saying something else that she really didn't think about properly. Her brown eyes leered at him with a sarcastic gleam, like she was just waiting for him to say something coarse about her - the infernal man _always_ had a way of turning things around to blame her, or rather, _shame_ her.

Eleanor could feel her snide response forming on the tip of her tongue - it appeared that her mind took a while to catch onto what her mouth was planning. And before her poor brain could register anything, the words finally sneaked out of her conniving mouth...

 _"You're despicable."_

Sweeney's frown deepened as he considered her statement. The only thing that sprung to mind when he thought about _her_ choice of words... was the word _'pathetic'._

"Well you're _insufferable."_ he mocked briskly, leaning in closer to her face like he'd expected her to flinch out of intimidation, but she didn't move a muscle.

"You're callous." she continued to provoke, which ended up being successful because he let out a growl of warning before he snatched hold of her bare shoulders. Her warm skin forced his mind to acknowledge his attraction to her for a brief second, before he shook his head and pretended like nothing had happened.

 _"Bloody awkward wom - "_

" 'eartless." she interrupted softly, like she knew that the more simply she said it, the more it would get to him.

Her careless tone and word choice caused him to openly hesitate. His brows knitted together in a thoughtful wince and his grip on her tightened for a fraction of a second... before he gently dropped his fierce hands away from her shoulders.

He looked genuinely deep in thought, with his eyes glazed over as they bored into the make-do rug below their feet. Something within Eleanor began writhing and poking around her chest, like her heart was nothing but an ignorant child's rag-doll.

Eleanor sighed, truly defeated inside as she watched him be consumed by his thought patterns. She couldn't resist at least _apologising_ to him, what she'd said had certainly been overly harsh. Even if it did have an element of _truth_ to it.

"Look, I'm sor - "

Her words cut off when he swiftly angled himself to face her better, his head pranging back up so that his mischievous black eyes could stare up at her. The way he looked at her made no sense - was he not _upset_ with her?

He leaned towards her even more, so that their noses brushed and his breath tickled her lips.

"Kiss me." he ordered in a teasing whisper, his mouth curling slightly at the corners and his eyes bearing those knowing glints that she never trusted fully. When she didn't intend to follow his wishes after a few seconds had passed, he inhaled deeply through his nose and brought his face even closer to her. He rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes.

She let out a gasp when she felt one of his hands take hold of her palm in a gentle action. She swallowed as his thumb lightly grazed across the back of her knuckles... what was he trying to do?

"Kiss me." he repeated, his gruff voice breaking through his breath slightly.

This time she found no reason to resist, and complied entirely. She completed the rest of the small gap between them, causing their mouths to collide in a nonchalant kiss. She was the one that began to deepen their kiss once she felt his arms wrapping around her waist - it was like he was used to the fact that she often needed support since she would sometimes end up toppling over.

She moaned into his mouth, allowing him to completely take hold of her attention. She felt one of his arms fall away from her side and she murmured in confusion when she felt his hot palm press over the skin of her right hand. She wanted to open her eyes in order to try and work out what he was doing, but the art of his distraction was too cunning - she couldn't stop reacting to his lips, and the way he held her heart captive was so wonderfully criminal.

He moved her hand upwards, guiding it towards his chest, where he soon paused, ensuring that her fingertips were laid flat. She started to furrow her brow when she sensed him slowing their kiss in order to part away from her. He did however, meet her gaze of rejection once her eyes immediately opened at his lack of contact.

Her mouth opened slightly and he couldn't have her ruining the moment so he squeezed her hand tightly, purposely pushing down on it so that she could feel the ferocious thudding of his apparent heart. His black eyes were somehow softer than she was used to, and her own eyes faltered, feeling each vibration of his heartbeat through to the bones of her fingers.

"See?" he finally breathed, wearing the most sincere expression she had seen from him in quite a while. "Not so _heartless_ after all."

* * *

 **A/N I know that not a lot has happened so far but I felt like easing back into this story. Would love to know your thoughts, I can't wait to write even more! Thanks for reading! :)**


	3. Peak Perfection

**Unquiet Intervention**

 **Peak Perfection**

Sweeney had been the first to wake up the next morning, his vision slightly blurred and his mind slightly confused about his surroundings. Even after a week of living there, he hadn't gotten used to their new life just yet. Perhaps he thought it was too good to be true, given how pessimistic he was - if that was the case, then it was no wonder that the man couldn't settle.

He was laid on his side over their make-do mattress, sheets clinging to his skin from the humidity of his body. He was too comfortable to move, and his heart was beating at a calm rate... which was unusual for him. He'd normally wake up with a torrent of adrenaline rushing through his body, but something had soothed him on this particular morning.

It was then, that he recalled the events of the night before. There were brief snippets of shiver-inducing memories coming back to him - the desperate way in which Eleanor had hooked her arms around his neck, the addictive way her opulent beauty had hypnotised him as she'd moved above him, the overwhelming way her entire life force swallowed him up completely off of the face of the Earth...

Hell, she'd _bewitched_ him.

Bewitched him to the point where most of his thoughts were consumed by her. It strangely made him feel more composed, and slightly more excitable. Apparently she was the only living thing that was a physical reminder that he too, was _alive_ \- of course, being in control of a stranger's _fate_ was something else that caused his heart to beat that little bit faster. However, he realised that she was unlike any human he'd ever met before. After yet another intimate night together, he'd finally figured out that _she_ was his agenda now.

Now that there was no one else left.

 _It was just the two of them._

He floated back down to reality after a few minutes, her peaceful breaths attracting the attention of his ears.

She was pressing herself to the back of him, so much so, that he could feel the outline of her breasts through the thin layer of shirt which she adorned. A pleasant wave of heat washed over him, and he found himself feeling oddly _proud_ that she was wearing something that she'd stripped off his person the night prior...

One of her arms lightly clutched around his side, her invitingly tender palm resting over his lower abdomen. Her other arm had fallen into place some hours ago, as her fingertips had kept on gently grazing the toasty skin at the base of his spine as he'd slept.

Now that he was awake, he wanted the visual aspect of Eleanor to attribute her soft breaths - the man couldn't resist watching her sleep. Not wanting to alarm her, he subtly tensed his back muscles and moved a fraction so that he could sneak a look at her over his shoulder.

As he pleasantly expected, the sight of her caused his breath to get that little bit shorter.

Her dark copper hair was tangled into an untidy knotted nest, propped up against the dreary canvas of the cushion beneath her head. Her body was completely defenceless, _limp_ even. He could have watched her like this for hours. Perhaps _days._

As he trailed his eyes over her like she was some kind of intricate spectacle, the minutes seemed to pass by like they were nothing more than split-seconds. For some reason, he liked that she was utterly oblivious to him studying her - it was the only time he found that he could do such a thing without her big mouth interrupting him with her verbal desires of marriage, or daydreams littered with wonders of where they were to direct their lives now...

None of it mattered to him. The fact they'd technically escaped the _death penalty_ was enough of an achievement for him. If the man could have had a trophy for doing such a thing, he bloody well would have.

 _Then again..._

... perhaps he _had_ received some kind of reward. A chance at another life was something that was rare, so it was only right that he frantically snatched at the opportunity with his curled fingers.

Apparently deep in thought, he only just took notice of the muffled moans coming from the woman he was undeniably glued to. For some reason, he seemed slightly startled when he realised that Eleanor was starting to stir out of her slumber. He shook his head and quickly, yet discreetly returned to his previous position of sleep.

He could feel her bare legs gently rubbing against the backs of his knees and he refrained from letting out a content sigh. He squeezed his eyes shut, pretending that he was still fast asleep. He debated whether to fake a few snores too... but he'd never been successful in that endeavour before, so he'd decided against it.

He silently swallowed as the material of the shirt she was wearing rubbed against his back, a low moan escaping her lips as she arched her back towards him to stretch her spine. She brought her head down closer to the nape of his neck, unleashing a heavy sigh which sent every one of his nerve endings into a hot spasm, causing a pleasant shiver through his form.

He kept still and quiet, not wanting to interrupt her actions - which ended up being more difficult once she pressed a kiss to the back of his neck before gently pushing herself upwards, to nuzzle her nose into his messy black hair.

After a minute or so of her just laying next to him, clinging to him like her life depended on it; she began to shuffle herself away from him as carefully as she could. He couldn't help the touch of a smirk reaching the corners of his lips - her adoration and care for him was rather amusing to him at times. But perhaps that was just because he still didn't understand why she loved him like she did.

He gave out an incoherent moan of disappointment when he eventually felt her warmth leave his skin. He was confused what had made her hurry herself to get up - they had nothing pressing to do as far as he was concerned.

 _"Mornin'..."_ he murmured with his husky voice as she continued to shuffle around beneath the covers beside him. She immediately paused whatever she'd been doing, swinging her legs out so she could sit over the side of the bed.

"Mornin', love... 'ow long 'ave you been awake?" she replied in her wispy voice, narrowing her eyes in thought as she pushed the odd stray hair out of her face. She didn't turn to face him, knowing that he probably wanted to see her look of confusion.

She realised that he often saw their relationship as a _game,_ then again, she'd be a _hypocrite_ if she didn't acknowledge that she did too sometimes. It was a mutual agreement they were used to by now, and one that was never verbally spoken of - it was just... _expected._

Instead of him giving her an answer, she heard the rustle of sheets and muffled thumps of his body against the mattress as he rolled over to face her. She was tempted to turn around, but she wore a slight smile, content with leaving him in suspense a short while longer.

She stayed sat on the edge of the bed, stiff-backed and mouth parted in anticipation. A rush of affection flooded through her completely when she felt the hem of Sweeney's baggy shirt lift away from her skin. She didn't quite manage to subdue her sigh when his firm hand slid across her lower back, caressing every one of skin cells with a skillful knead from his fingertips.

He'd successfully manipulated her, and she quickly swung herself around to face him. His hand had stayed in place but her body had moved against his perspiring palm, causing his fingers to rub the skin just below her cleavage. Her breaths started to noticeably shorten now that they were staring at one another, his hand still firmly in place beneath her shirt.

Neither of them said a word. Eleanor just gazed at him with an overwhelming amount of love. And he just gazed back at her, his right arm outstretched over the rumpled mattress sheet so that his hand could continue feeling her.

After another minute or so, his strokes over her slowed until he eventually reluctantly drew his hand out from under his shirt. He hated to admit it, but she certainly carried off wearing his clothing _extremely well._

"Come 'ere." he breathed, his un-moving eyes so unusually vibrant and calculating considering that he'd supposed to have just woken. "Lie with me for a short while."

There was a certain poetic irony to his last sentence, and she so desperately wanted to point it out. However, she felt her throat seize up, and her planned answer hung in the spacious restraints of her mind... and stayed there. He'd easily managed to charm her back into bed - she wasted no time on raising the thick quilt to slide her form beneath.

She didn't quite lay down like he'd requested, but she'd kept facing him and that's all he'd really wished of her. His eyes finally began to roam over her, from the ends of her hair to the generous curve of her chest. The quilt was gathered around her rib-cage, preventing him from visually exploring her any further and his eyes glinted with curiosity.

"... Mr T?" she whispered, the very lips that she'd pushed her words out of catching his attention, and for a moment, she could have sworn his lips had parted like he'd been imagining pressing his own mouth to her.

"Mm?" he only just rumbled out in reply, his eyes lingering over her mouth like whatever she was about to say was meaningless - the movement of her lips alone seemed to hypnotise him.

"Are you... _starkers?"_ she breathed out sharply with a silly smile, brown eyes bright with wonder.

He tried to keep his expression completely unreadable but his devious smirk crept onto his lips as he gazed at the amusing look on her face.

"Yes..." he replied simply, noticing that her eyes seemed to widen significantly when he shuffled across the mattress so that the gap between the two of them was now non-existent. "... 'ave been all night."

Eleanor suddenly broke the quiet atmosphere they had by letting out her distinctive giggle. She immediately sunk down so that her left cheek was flat against one of the bed pillows, her eyes lighting up with mischief as she muffled her giggles by placing one of her hands over her mouth.

"What? What's so funny?" he asked with feigned annoyance, but his eyes were the doorway to how he truly felt.

She removed her hand away from her mouth and only laughed harder, rolling onto him slightly so that she could bury her face in the nook of his armpit.

 _"What?"_ he persisted to question, a conniving smirk now curling into a silly grin. She was acting like a naughty little girl on this particular morning, and he knew that their night of passion _must_ have had something to do with it.

He allowed her to giggle into his skin some more, realising then and there, that she only added to his insanity. But she complimented him rather well.

Or perhaps, _he_ was the one that was complimenting _her._

After another thirty seconds of her dirty laughter, he couldn't take it anymore, knowing he would only end up joining her if she carried on... and he _certainly_ couldn't have that.

He shoved her away from him and her amusement simmered down immediately. She looked slightly disheartened and left a small gap between them, which caused him to wield an expression of sincerity.

Before she could scold him for randomly rejecting her, she soon realised that he'd beaten her at making the first move...

He reached out to her and threaded his fingers through her dishevelled hair, gently tensing each digit around her pale skin once they reached the back of her neck. He gently guided her towards him, her eyes hooded with desire due to his actions.

It wasn't ten seconds before they were kissing once more, slowly writhing against one another like they were each other's life support.

"I 'ate you sometimes." she managed to pant out as she parted from his lips for a second, soon continuing to kiss him regardless. He couldn't stop himself from smirking against her mouth, pushing so hard against her that she ended up toppling backwards - now that she was spread out flat over the mattress, it was much easier for him to torment her with nips and kisses, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist to trap her in place.

Neither of them could stop themselves from internally admitting that they loved waking up like this - it felt easy going, quaint... _perfect,_ even.

Perhaps _too_ perfect...

It was clear that something ominous beckoned from the distant horizon. Whilst the two of them continued to focus on one another, they'd become more and more fascinated by each other, utterly distracted from the approaching danger...

Perhaps they'd take more notice once said danger was staring them in the face.

* * *

 **A/N Thank you for reading! I'm finally getting back into writing this again, I've been super unfocused at the moment (a lot like our favourite couple here) so I just thought a bit of fluff might make me feel a little more inspired. Luckily, it did and I've got tons of chapters planned now, so the updates should come more swiftly. Let me know your thoughts, I know this is a lot shorter than usual so I apologise for that. I promise there's actual plot soon, so hopefully that will make up for the long wait and shortness of this chapter. See you in the next update :)**


	4. Crossing Boundaries

**Unquiet Intervention**

 **Crossing Boundaries**

Toby, who both barber and baker had seemed to forget about or purposely _ignore,_ quietly crept out of his cosy bedroom. Even though he finally had a decent place to call home, he wasn't particularly happy. In fact, if the lad was older, he'd probably recognise that he was somewhat _depressed._

It must have felt like the weight of the entire house was being balanced over his shoulders, because the way he carried himself across the small landing towards the staircase was slow and unenthusiastic. He felt even emptier when his bare feet soon lightly smacked against the cold wood of each stair.

The entire house may as well have been a drafty _morgue_ to him, with the indifferent sulk he wore.

The lad hadn't been his usual self for a while, much to Eleanor's dismay. She hated seeing him so quiet and out of sorts, she'd always loved the young boy's optimistic energy.

It was almost impossible for her not to have heard him stomp his way downstairs from her place by the stove. She was in the cramped kitchen, which was located at the rear of the house - it was enclosed by the dining room (to the left) and the huddled hallway (to the right). She was stood with her back to the hot stove-plate, more concerned with peering through the open doorway to suss out what kind of mood the boy would be in today.

She let out a huff, slightly astonished that this was what her mornings had now come to. Her trying to read _both_ men of the house was like trying to read a recipe over the searing flames of her old bake-house oven... unnecessarily _precarious_ and ever so _pointless,_ in the end. But she did it nevertheless.

He soon appeared in the dining room, his chestnut eyes focused on the floorboards his little feet stepped upon. His brown tufts of hair were more ratty than usual and he'd only just managed to find a pinch of effort to dress himself. His shirt was all un-tucked and he'd only bothered to do up a couple of buttons - Eleanor was partially frustrated, considering she'd fashioned the piece of clothing from one of Mr Todd's shirts (not that she'd told the lad). But the other half of her was incredibly guilty.

 _It appeared that her and Mr Todd's happiness was at the expense of the young boy's sanity._

Eleanor quietly stepped forward, clutching one of her hands to the door-frame with a heart-aching wince. She observed as he paused by the table, which she had laid out immaculately. She was sure he'd noticed because he surveyed the surface, his head following the shape of the circular table.

She bit into a small smile, watching him quietly pulling out one of the wooden chairs to take his usual seat - a seat which was on the _opposite_ side of the table to the seats of the two adults. She'd often wondered why he hadn't thought of moving, but she knew the very idea of her being with Mr Todd _romantically,_ repulsed him to his very core. Naturally, she'd never bothered bringing up the question of why.

She withheld a sigh, knowing too well that it would let him know that she was watching him. Luckily, before she was tempted to let her voice ring out to greet him instead, the sizzle of bacon rashers spat out from the pan on the stove behind her. She hurriedly turned with a gasp and rushed over to it, internally cursing herself for getting carried away by losing track of time.

 _'Speakin' of timin'... wonder where Mr T's got to? Probably still all cosied up in that bed no doubt.'_ she thought to herself, continuing to dish up three plates of breakfast. She couldn't help her mind lingering on the image of him that morning, complete in the flesh with those alluring black eyes daring her to initiate what he had only the night before...

She shook her head, snapping herself back to the present, though the thought of him still lurked in the back of her mind. She took hold of two of the three plates, each one allocated a hand. She adorned the calmest smile that she could muster and backed out into the cosy dining area, the bustle of her dress lightly scraping against the door-frame as she did so.

She carefully rotated herself around so that she could see where she was going - Toby was still oblivious to her presence, his head hanging low to avoid any eye contact. His behaviour soon changed, however, when she placed one of the plates on the free space of table in front of him.

"Mornin', dear." she greeted with optimistic enthusiasm - enthusiasm that she could tell had grabbed the lad's attention.

"Mornin'..." he reluctantly mumbled in reply, lifting his head a fraction once she set her own plate of food down beside him. He attempted to sneak a glance at her without lifting his head any further, but with Eleanor Lovett, nothing tended to go amiss.

She immediately met his weary brown eyes, which bared red veins of insomnia - he was clearly not settling, and appeared to be _(apparently)_ more perturbed than _Mr Todd_ was. Then again... Eleanor didn't think that was quite _possible._

She gave out a gasp of worry, bending down a little so that she could study his tiredness in more detail.

"You been 'avin' those nightmares again?" she asked, her voice just over a whisper as she gazed at his blood-shot eyes. He took his attention away from her to face dead ahead, but gave her a single nod in reply. She scrunched up her features slightly, placing her palm flat against his forehead - there had been no real reason for the woman to do this, so the lad adorned an uncomfortable frown.

"You feelin' alright?" she continued to press in a concerned tone, to which he let out a little huff and shrugged her away from his face.

"Jus' tired, is all." he grumbled, turning his head away from her so that she couldn't directly talk to him anymore.

At the sound of dense thuds creaking out from the staircase, Eleanor decided to stop chatting to the boy, knowing that she needed to pour Mr Todd a cup of tea. The barber really wouldn't have cared if he had nothing for breakfast at all, but she was the one that always insisted on the breakfast routine.

She quickly rushed to stand up out of her seat, abandoning the lad for the kitchen. Just as she'd disappeared from the dining room, Sweeney thudded down the last few stairs, giving no indication of how he was feeling - as usual, his expression was _unreadable._

He then confidently sauntered across from the bottom of the stairs and into the dining room, dark eyes filled with tenacity. As soon as he caught a glimpse of where Eleanor was - _in the door of the kitchen_ \- he strode towards her.

Toby narrowed his eyes at him, praying that the two of them wouldn't show any sign of sickening affection. It was better to be safe than sorry, so the young boy purposely pushed his hand across the round table-top, causing one of his teaspoons to clatter to the floorboards below.

Eleanor frowned and turned to face the source of the sound, but by that time, Mr Todd had managed to sneak up to stand directly in front of her. Before she could bid him a second good morning, his arms lifted and snatched hold of her waist so that he could firmly pull her in towards him. She easily succumbed to his slight callousness, and leaned towards him, pleasantly shaking when he pressed a single chaste kiss to her lips. As the kiss deepened slightly, he could sense the young lad watching them, so he made sure to advance the situation even more by squeezing his arms tightly around her, to which she gave out a surprised squeak in reply.

He let out a deep hum of contentment when their lips eventually parted ways, smirking triumphantly over how much she still seemed to swoon over him. She was blushing a light shade of pink and biting down onto her swollen bottom lip - these were things he could never tire of seeing.

"Good mornin' t'you too..." she murmured dreamily, narrowing her eyes in curiosity as he swiftly turned away to stroll over to his preferred seat... which he realised Toby had _deliberately_ moved into.

Suddenly, the feeling of victory was smeared over with so much unavoidable irritation, that even his features seemed to reset into a lifeless sulk. It was like he'd never been content in the first place due to the way his emotionless expression fell into place - it seemed that his grouchy self was finally back for the day.

He held his displeasure, letting it show so blatantly that Eleanor was bound to notice. He nonchalantly made his way over to the other seat, which was across from Toby, biting his tongue to hold back the word that he was dying to scorch the boy with. He stared the awkward child down as he quietly took his place opposite, black eyes hollow and joints stiff with annoyance.

He could hear Eleanor clattering about in the kitchen but didn't risk taking away his eyes from the boy, too caught up in making him feel uncomfortable. And it was clear that the lad did, from the way he shuffled about over his seat, his eyes darting everywhere but at the barber sat across from him.

Nevertheless, Toby decided that he needed to make himself occupied to stop any chance of a conversation happening, so he lifted his knife and fork up from the table and began to cut into his few rashers of bacon. Each of his cuts squeaked out in high pitched shrieks against the plate beneath, to which Sweeney clenched his jaw to stop himself from exploding into an unstoppable fury. Every time the boy applied another slice, the ear-stabbing sound seemed to get even higher, and louder.

What annoyed Mr Todd even more, was that the lad knew _exactly_ what to do to annoy him. Sweeney was positive that the child would stop the ear-torture once Eleanor was in the room, in fact, he would've even placed a _bet_ on it, if he could have.

He kept his teeth clenched together, yet his eyes picked holes in the boy's returning stare. He could see the child's bravado was slowly deteriorating before his eyes, considering that the annoying noises didn't appear to be working.

Thankfully, before Sweeney found the energy to reach across and yank the lad by the scruff of his throat, Eleanor's hums interrupted his desire to punish the boy. She soon appeared from the door-frame leading from the kitchen, holding a plate of breakfast flat in one palm, whilst her other hand was wrapped around a mug of tea.

Sweeney couldn't quite focus on the lad anymore, quickly finding that his attention swayed to his lover instead. The insufferable noises from Toby's knife and fork seemed to fade out to background noise now that he was studying Eleanor's presence. His eyes trailed over her carefully as she bent over the table to set down his food and drink.

"Eat up, dear. 'Know 'ow hungry you can get sometimes." she encouraged with a warm smile - but the more his eyes lingered on her expression, the more he realised that there was something else to what she'd said due to the fact that her eyes beheld a desire for him again.

The majority of the next ten minutes consisted of Eleanor chattering away to the two of them, even though she didn't get much of a reply from either of them. She was completely oblivious to the boy and the barber sending each other daggers of hatred to one another. She just thought they were too focused on eating to be able to answer her.

After a few minutes of her nattering, Toby began to shovel in his food at a faster rate, like he was in some kind of _race_ and Sweeney could only smirk at how childish the lad was being. Then again, perhaps the sadistic man was just praying that the boy _choked._

It wasn't long until that very thing happened, Toby's fork hitting the side of his china plate. He coughed and coughed, unable to stop the stream of water running out of his eyes, and down his cheeks.

"Slow down, love." Eleanor soothed, rubbing her palm against the lad's back in hopes that it would comfort him. He immediately felt the stuck food sliding down his throat and shrugged her hand away from him. Even though he was being overly stubborn, he still obeyed her, only swallowing smaller mouthfuls at a calmer rate.

Sweeney (who was internally laughing like nobody's business) switched his gaze so that he was focusing on Eleanor instead, studying her discreetly from his place on the other side of the table. Even though she was oblivious to his gaze, he couldn't forget that look she'd worn as she'd set his food down. It had imprinted on his mind.

He slowly stretched out one of his legs, only stopping once his foot quietly scraped against the material of her dress-skirts. He was still wearing an impassive expression, but internally he was amused. He carefully used the tip of his shoe to bury beneath the hem of her skirts, to which she finally looked back at him with an accusing stare.

He kept still for a moment, staring straight back at her like nothing at all was going on. She certainly didn't say anything to stop him - she'd clearly considered that the young boy was sat beside her, and didn't want to attract his attention. She acted as casual as she could, raising her cup of tea to her lips.

Knowing her game, Sweeney slowly pushed his leg further forwards, causing her skirts to gather over his shin - the conniving corners of his mouth began to twitch. He watched as she lightly grazed her teeth over her bottom lip as his leg brushed against hers - even though stockings covered her skin, he knew she would still take notice of every one of his movements.

She began to quiver slightly, which became more noticeable as she took her cup of tea away from her mouth. Her hand was wobbling as she tried to carefully set down the drink onto the table. Luckily, she fought against her pleasant apprehension and managed to place it loudly on the surface.

The awkward atmosphere was soon interrupted, much to Eleanor's relief, when a few hollow knocks echoed out from the front door.

"I'll get it." Sweeney suddenly piped up, jumping up from the table like the idea of a stranger at their front door had sparked some kind of _energy_ within him. Hopefully not the energy of the _killing_ kind.

Eleanor shot him a quizzical look but nodded, sensing that he had probably been waiting for an excuse to leave the table for quite some time. He was always uncomfortable when the boy was around the two of them, he'd tense up and get all _Fleet Street_ with her - she wasn't sure why, perhaps Toby was seen as a threat somehow? Or perhaps just a niggling _inconvenience,_ she knew that Sweeney preferred things when it was just the two of them on their own...

Before she'd even snapped out of her thoughts, he'd already left the table and swiftly exited the room. He was uncharacteristically _eager,_ until he actually paused in the hallway before reaching the front door... he finally acknowledged that he was going to have to _interact_ with somebody. He narrowed his eyes at the shadow through the window-panes of the door, already deciding that he loathed their guts.

Deciding that the person would only continue knocking if he didn't at least _open_ the door, he marched down the hall with determination, not caring if each of his footsteps caused the wooden floor to vibrate densely. Not wishing to delay the situation any further, he unlatched the door and cracked it open, peering around it with unimpressed eyes.

A gaunt brunette woman was stood on his doorstep, her plain-grey dress appeared to be well-tailored and she couldn't have been much older than forty. Her nose, he quickly noticed in that first second of meeting her, looked as if her cheeks had been pinched together and stretched out into a thin, curved point. It intruded on her features, and reminded him of a beak. It made her look snide, even more so when she tried to wear a seemingly kind smile.

She must not have registered the blank look of disinterest on Mr Todd's face, for she actually limply extended her right hand out to him, her smile broadening into a sickening bow-shape.

"Morning to you, sir. I've come here on behalf of the rest of the street to welcome you to our community." she greeted in the most flowing voice that he'd ever heard in his life - her speech was that perfectly spaced out that he was certain that she'd likely rehearsed saying such a thing. And the way she spoke through her teeth grated on his nerves - who the _hell_ did she think she was?

 _His hatred for her had grown even more in the space of five seconds._

Before he could give her a snarky reply, he heard the faint sound of a whisper - or had it been a _laugh?_

It didn't take him long to connect the dots - if she was a _neighbour,_ then it wasn't entirely unlikely that some of the other busy-bodies of the street had come along with her to _welcome_ him to the neighbourhood.

Considering that this was the first stranger he'd seen in about a week, the _welcoming_ didn't end particularly well... _naturally._

The brunette woman was still stood before him, her arm hanging mid-air like she was expecting him to succumb to her greeting. With every split-second that passed, her wet smile stretched further and further over her skull, which seemed to be itching to burst out of the seams of her skin.

Without saying a word to her, his frown only deepened.

And then he violently pressed his hand against the edge of the door. It closed in one furious swipe of his hand, like it was some kind of metallic entrance to a _dungeon,_ rather than an ordinary flimsy door.

 _He'd done nothing more than slam the door in the woman's face to reply._

He could see the outline of the woman through the stain-glass window panes, which were assembled within the door's frame. She looked absolutely _livid,_ and because the woman had that reaction, Sweeney could only smirk with mischief.

Wasting no more time loitering, he pivoted around to head back to the dining room (he was still _itching_ to one-up Toby), yet he stopped in his tracks when he felt something rustle against the side of his right foot. He immediately looked towards the source of the noise, already bending down to pick up the item.

It was some kind of _broad-sheet._ At least, that's what he presumed, given the weight of the paper and the fact it was double-folded. He brought the newspaper closer so that he could study it better. Some of the ink had run slightly, like it had been out in some dreadful rain storm and from the crinkled feel of the paper, it was rough, like it had some age to it.

He was never one for reading broad-sheets, it had never even crossed his mind to do so. Yet all that was ever contained within the papered cavities of their contents, was always reports of tragedies, deaths and idiocy. _Exactly_ the kind of sadistic reading material he should have revelled in.

As he unfolded the paper, a puzzled expression fell over his features.

Despite not being a broad-sheet reader, he recognised the make at the top of the front page, and most importantly the _date._ It was a _London_ newspaper, he recalled seeing many men grasping them in their hands as they went about their business. Some had even brought their reading material to his barbershop - which had always ticked him off even more, considering that they were trying to avoid conversation with their barber. Naturally he'd always ensured to get rid of _those_ customers as fast as possible, even though his reasoning had been entirely hypocritical at the time - given that he too, liked to avoid conversation where Mrs Lovett had been concerned.

He immediately began to question how such a thing had gotten there... had the neighbour purposely _distracted_ him in order that she could drop it?

Then again, any old person could have slid the thing beneath the door, or at least, _tried_ to - from the way the edges of the paper were curled, he could tell they had definitely attempted to shove it beneath the door. Why go to all that effort? It had been delivered in what appeared to be _desperation,_ and now he thought about it, he hadn't spoken to another soul outside of his own abode... no one would have known that he had fled from London...

Eleanor, on the other hand, was an entirely different story. He knew what a blabber-mouth she often was, so he really wouldn't have put it past her if she'd come across someone to chat to when she was out shopping for groceries. _He ought to have a word with her about that..._

Still, he skimmed his eyes over the front page, trying to understand why it had been sent to their house. It was worrying either way, perhaps someone was attempting to blackmail them? The amount of apprehensive possibilities was slowly driving him insane. Even more so when he spotted that the date beneath the headline was just a few _days_ ago...

It was then, however, that he came to a small column to the right of the page. As soon as he began reading, he instantly knew that whoever had sent this very paper to him, knew exactly _who_ and _what_ both he and Eleanor were.

The article was very much to the point, describing some kind of freak outbreak of fire around the streets surrounding the Strand. His heart pounded and he actually had to pause to look away for a moment, swallowing back his dread... he could only hope that he wouldn't see any familiar names mentioned as he read on.

 _God help them if they found out about their murder scheme._

It continued to describe the scenes of bodies turned to speckles of ash - it seemed like the streets of London had descended into a Hell on Earth, even more so, after he'd managed to escape it.

He skipped the descriptions of devastation, too fascinated when he caught sight of Eleanor's name... _and then his own._ As he read further on, he could only smirk with sadistic success, that paranoid little niggle in the back of his mind vanishing for a moment.

According to the article, the two of them were believed to have _perished_ in the fire, along with many other 'meaningless' civilians... and that speculation served both Mr Todd and Mrs Lovett _incredibly_ well. They'd soon be forgotten about considering the public, not to mention, _the authorities,_ now thought that the two of them had ceased to be.

 _How convenient that such a newspaper had landed upon their doorstep..._

Sweeney took the paper from his line of sight, staring at the ground where he'd found it with wide eyes, like it was some kind of _hell portal._

He attempted to weigh up everything in his mind, he was both bewildered and nervous. Should he have been afraid of someone knowing his true nature? Whoever had sent him the newspaper must have _known_ him, surely? He wasn't certain what the sender's intentions were, but they'd clearly gone to a lot of effort to deliver to his doorstep.

If the sender had _malicious_ intentions, why wasn't there a chain letter or at least a smidgen of a sign that they were a threat? It made no sense to him.

It made no sense, because he truly believed that whoever had sent the paper to him, was completely on his side. This was something that Mr Todd was not really used to. Yet still, the presence of the paper unnerved him, sent chills to the back of his spine - but what for? There was nothing there to threaten him. Was he scared that someone else out there _understood_ him?

Or was it, perhaps, that he secretly knew that only one other person outside of his current abode would ever be on his side? The very thought of that person's name clung to his mind and his taciturn expression spread over his features as he froze on the spot, totally unaware of the light approaching thumps of Eleanor's bare feet behind him.

Still focusing on that name alone, he felt his heart twinge for a millisecond. He couldn't recall ever feeling such hope in his life - it was like backwards grief and all he could do was steady himself into an eerie trance.

Eleanor, now half-way down the hallway, noticed his strange behaviour and paused, a light frown grazing her brow. She quietly crept closer to him, her eyebrows knitting together when she noticed that his head was tilted down slightly, like he was focusing on something below him...

"Who was it, love?" she asked gently, her voice just over a whisper. She was stood motionless behind him now, her brown eyes shimmering with concern - worry was all she ever felt whenever he was acting strange.

He knew she was there behind him, but he couldn't quite bring himself to face her. Something had him glued in place, and it became clear after a few seconds from the way his hands clenched around the newspaper, that he didn't intend to show her what had been sent to them.

His thoughts had turned to the paper's disposal, and all he could ponder, was how he could get rid of the bloody thing without Eleanor noticing.

 _"Mr T?"_ she pressed, huffing out a defeated sigh as she placed her hands on her hips. "You're not even listenin' t'me, are y - ?"

"This 'ouse is freezin'." he cut in with his gruff voice, not even glancing over his shoulder to acknowledge her. If he had, he would have seen a gawp of shock on her face - she almost seemed _offended_ by his interruption. She'd gotten so used to him actually listening to her every syllable the night before that she'd overlooked how rude he could be as a person.

"Wot _are_ you on about, Mr T?!" she fired back, wearing a glorious pout as she crossed her arms over her front like she was trying to conceal her chest - she hoped he couldn't hear her heart pounding like a never-ending stampede. "This is the warmest mornin' we've 'ad outta all the time we've been - "

"I said, _freezing,_ Eleanor." he butted in once again, through gritted teeth this time. "Could do with the fire _lit."_

She narrowed her eyes at him, noticing how tense his shoulders were, tight up to his neck. She hated this, going from one extreme to the other with him. What had brought all this on? Either way, there was no excuse for him to boss her about.

 _She wasn't having it this time._

 _"No._ Not until you stop bein' all shirty wi' me! Now, tell me what's gotten inta ya, you look frightful pale." she insisted, reaching her hand forwards to lay it on his right shoulder.

"When _don't_ I?" he drawled, actually rotating himself slightly so that his black eyes could scold her for disobeying him. _"Light the fire,_ woman. _Now."_

Although she still loved those eyes of his, there was something frenzied about the emotion within them - she couldn't quite put her finger on it, but he was definitely up to something.

She frowned at his demand, not at all happy with how militant he was being. Who the _hell_ did he think he was? She may have been his accomplice once upon a time, but she certainly wasn't a damn _slave._

Nevertheless, with a deep inhale, she soon quickly headed off to the parlour, unknowingly fuelling the fire on which he'd later burn the mysterious broad-sheet...

... so that Eleanor would never have to know about its existence.

* * *

 **A/N Thank you so much for reading! Sorry if there's a noticeable change in writing quality - I finally got more inspired towards the end so that's why it may seem like it suddenly picks up. I'm really excited to write the next few chapters, and it should be less of a wait this time. I'm trying to update every week but sometimes I can't stop expanding an idea, so that's why it sometimes takes a little longer. Thank you to everyone reading, and for those patiently waiting. See you in the next chapter :)**


	5. Love, Ecstasy, Terror

**Unquiet Intervention**

 **Love, Ecstasy, Terror**

One instance was illicit passion, bloodied shirts, jarring trapdoors and burnt pastry. It was wickedly shrouded by a world so corrupt and vile, that its cruel deeds would forever remain a mystery.

The next instance, on the other hand, was the sight of the intimidating altar, a few steps higher than ground level, which only made it appear even more cold and unnerving. It was an _obscene_ place to settle on changing paths, especially when that same world outside hadn't decided to change one bit.

The world was still as _ominous_ and _invasive_ as ever.

Sweeney Todd decided then and there, that he _loathed_ churches. They revolved around change - whether better or worse. They were a place to not only pray, but to find forgiveness, and most importantly _acceptance..._

... and therefore, were the _last_ places in the universe that the barber wished to visit.

He was sure that a few people behind him had noticed how strange he was acting - he was stood like a stoic statue, his eyes peering up as far as they would go so that he wouldn't have to move his head.

Considering the situation, he was also sure that they probably presumed it was him having _cold feet._

Yet their presumptions couldn't have been farther from the truth - being in such a holy place was absolutely _soul-draining_ for him. He hadn't visited a church for a number of years; he wasn't exactly the religious type, rather a man of... morals - _twisted_ morals, to be more exact. But it wasn't just the fact that he couldn't relate to the place through belief, something about the atmosphere made him feel _uneasy._

Perhaps it was because for one moment, he truly did wonder if a higher power was judging him in such a holy place of worship. If anything, he knew that he was the worst of any sinner. Especially out of all of the strangers sat behind him. A higher power judging his actions was fine with him, he was beyond caring... it was more the very idea of a _divine intervention_ that he was concerned about.

 _What if he was finally going to be punished now that he was in a holy house, under the watchful eye of a higher being?_

Then again, hadn't he suffered enough?

He clenched his hands into fists and crossed them over his stomach, trying to steady his breaths in an attempt to halt one of his violent episodes.

He hated himself all of a sudden. All he wanted to do was squeeze someone's neck until he could see their pressurised veins bulging from the constraints of their eyeballs. He clenched his jaw, his brow twitching in an attempt to fight off the urge to scowl.

Whenever his anxiety spiked, all he wanted to do was to slit the odd throat to feel better, but unfortunately this wasn't exactly the time or the place. He had to keep his true mad self restrained to the darkest depths of his mind, and unfortunately because of this, he did feel that what was to come was perhaps not completely his _honest_ self.

It wasn't just the looming ceremony ahead, his mask of neutrality or the unsettling ambience that caused his nerves to set on edge, it was also the fact that the church behind him was - _quite literally_ \- packed from pew to pew. He'd only been settling in Blackpool for a few months now, and he still hadn't ventured outside all that much - it had been quite an unpleasant surprise to be greeted with practically _half_ of the town's populous.

He continued to stare ahead with his aching black eyes, the sludge-like mess of wax candles adorning the width of the alter distinguishing the illusion of a holy union. The flickering flames of the diminishing candles spoke more to him than anything, they bypassed his apprehension completely and somehow the imperfection of them made him feel more grounded. He wasn't completely satisfied with his mood, but it was one that would do for the time being.

The sight before him did not stop him from standing awkwardly however. He still appeared to be visually on edge from the sheen of his un-moving irises, his back stiff and proper. His discomfort was perhaps for another reason, and one that everyone else had already gathered: he was awaiting the very woman he'd purposely shunned not so many moons ago.

 _The woman who had catered to his every will. The woman who had carved out organs, peeled off flesh from bone to better both of their lives. The woman who had gladly reserved her space in hell, so long as she could go on loving him..._

Internally his mind was racing through the time they'd previously spent together so far. In truth, the two of them had been together for quite a long time already, and due to this, he'd always secretly presumed that the two of them were somewhat married to one another, without needing any confirmation from another form of authority.

His attention was swayed however, when there was a slight peak in whispers behind him... considering the strangers behind him had been cautiously silent previously, he knew it could only mean one thing.

There was finally a small creak from the direction of the heavy church doors, the overwhelming murmurs from the witnesses hushing as a consequence. All he could hear after that, was the dense rhythm's of the heels of familiar boots gently striking the stone floor. The sounds seemed to echo, like the church itself was warning him that this was a decision that would likely have repercussions for the rest of his life.

He'd have to live with himself choosing her until his end days - he'd be choosing her senseless nattering, choosing her pathetic optimism over...

... _what_ exactly?

Absolutely _nothing,_ because he'd rather know that he had a woman with flaws than waste away alone for the rest of his life.

His anxiety was clearly making his thought patterns irrational. Internally, over those last few months, his feelings had grown for her in their own way. And even though he thought some over-the-top declaration of love was absolutely ridiculous and an utter sham, he had shown her how much he adored her in other ways instead.

In fact, he was only glued to the spot and stood in such an awkward manner for _her_. The entire wedding didn't matter to him at all, he didn't need a church full of busybodies or an inadequate religion to set his feelings in stone.

But he knew that their union meant something to her.

And of course, they couldn't exactly show _public_ affection whenever they happened to walk around town without being married. The two of them hated that they had to keep a low profile as much as possible in the past few weeks - therefore Sweeney was also thankful for the ceremony in a practical sort of way.

His mind couldn't stop racing with the factors that were final about what he was doing. But it was too late to have any regrets. She was fast approaching him, and there was no way that he was going to stop her from doing so.

Before he could register it, the sound of Eleanor's footsteps eventually reached his side and his body acted out of reflex, causing him to side-step directly next to her.

Oddly, he couldn't bring himself to look at her, but he could feel her brown orbs glaring at him like it was the first time she'd ever set eyes upon him. Instead of returning the attention, he stiffly looped his arm with hers, the warmth and clamminess of her skin giving away that she was probably just as nervous as he was.

He could sense her tilting her face towards him, her chin invading his peripheral vision a tad. He ignored his urge to swiftly turn to face her, wanting to come across as a man of sincere purpose to the strangers silently watching them with suspense.

Eleanor was subconsciously pleading for him to look at her.

The two of them hadn't seen each other for an entire day, and her heart had been pounding since the night before due to his absence. She knew it was all part of the wedding ritual but she'd hated it - why on Earth couldn't he have been by her side? Who would've known? Who would have cared?

He took a single step forward and she followed him, her left hand tightly clutching onto her bouquet of scarlet carnations. She never took her eyes away from him when they took a few more steps, studying his striking features intently, as if she was revising him.

She was desperate now, desperate for him to gaze back at her. She'd missed the way he looked at her, even though it had only been a single night without him. At least, she reasoned with herself, it was for an _important_ cause...

"Is it s'posed to be this quiet?" Sweeney murmured beneath his breath, seizing the last moment of uninterrupted conversation before the excruciating vow-swapping finally began. Her breathing hitched slightly at the sound of his voice, her heart thudding so hard that it almost hurt.

As the two of them advanced a few more slow steps, he was faced forwards, like he'd never even uttered a word. His neutral expression ensured that no one watching them realised that he was secretly trying to make conversation with his wife to ease his fluctuating nerves.

He heard her emit a single breathy laugh, enough to let him know that she was being cautious now that they were a public spectacle too.

"You noticed it too, did'ja?" she whispered, tensing the arm he had entwined with his own. "I wish they'd talk amongst themselves or summin', I 'ate silences like 'is."

He could always count on Eleanor to calm him, the tell-tale smirk curled upon his face, "Oh, no need to tell me, pet. I already know that quite well."

Even though he didn't want to appear to the witnesses behind them as a man in desperate infatuation, he could no longer hold off gazing upon her. He was far too curious about her reaction to his words, so he pretended to peer down at the lapels of his own waistcoat. He tilted his head to the side slightly, his gaze darting to her face instantly.

The pale skin of her cheeks had flushed crimson with suggestion, and her flattered nature only complimented her auburn ringlets, which had been pinned up and tucked into tight pigtails either side of her head.

Her dress (traditionally white, _of course)_ blended into her skin pigment perfectly - but he couldn't help noticing the frill-like trim covering the entirety of her chest. The dress was so subtle and uplifting in colour, something he knew to be the complete opposite of her. He felt even more at ease due to this however, knowing that she too was acting as someone else for this entire ordeal.

 _Apparently when both of them wore masks of dishonesty, anything was completely fine with him. It meant that whatever game they were playing was utterly under their control..._

His eyes slowly found their way up to her mouth, which was moving though no sound of her voice reached his ears. He could sense they were closing in on the imposing alter, but he was too transfixed by the sight of her to notice how many steps they were taking. He wondered whether she felt the urge to kiss him, because he certainly wanted to kiss her.

If he'd been listening to her he probably would have found out.

Suddenly, she turned her head away from him to stare dead-ahead, causing his attention to shift from her. He frowned in confusion, mirroring her actions. It had been so long since he'd attended any kind of wedding, so it was quite possible that he had no idea how the upcoming service was going to go...

If only they'd paid the priest extra for a rehearsal the day prior...

He was surprised how quickly they'd reached the alter. Even the priest was stood before them, blocking the view of the thick pool of melted candle wax... whether his placement was intentional was entirely up to interpretation.

Wait, how had they gotten this far without Sweeney realising? Had Eleanor not verbally asked him to answer her before? Then again, she probably had and he'd just been there staring at her like he was physically forbidden to take his eyes away from her. He felt foolish for getting lost in her so early into the ceremony, but he really couldn't help it.

He hadn't seen her for an _entire night,_ after all.

 _"Sweeney Todd."_ The priest finally began to address, his bleak expression giving away that he was perhaps slightly tired of going through the ritual of marriage. Sweeney actually frowned at the man, narrowing his eyes in interest, wondering whether he was meant to answer or not.

Luckily, the priest motioned towards Eleanor, very nearly causing Sweeney to let out a deep breath of relief.

"Eleanor Lovett." the grey-haired man continued to drawl in an impossibly nonchalant tone. "Have you come here to enter into Marriage without coercion, freely and wholeheartedly?"

Sweeney wore a look of surprise as he shot a glance at his bride, clearly taken aback by how blunt the start of the whole ordeal was (or perhaps, how _slow_ the priest's delivery was). He was actually tempted to decline just for his own sadistic amusement, but he knew that this was no longer a laughing matter.

The priest's cold blue eyes stared straight at him, studying his amusement with disappointment - but he managed to keep a straight expression.

The man was tediously awaiting an answer.

"I have." Sweeney declared assuredly, his voice hoarse from the lack of its use. He wanted to turn his head and stare at his wife-to-be ever so much, but he knew it would be looked down upon. Instead, he settled for moving his eyes so that he could stare at one of the off-white drapes hung up in the corner to his left, so he could at least see her in his peripheral vision.

He noticed that her chest was heaving, likely from her having shortness of breath. He should have anticipated that of her, considering that this was a moment she'd likely been waiting for the majority of her _life..._

"I have." she pushed out in a whisper, trying to keep her deep breaths under tight wraps, even though he could hear every one clearly because he was standing directly beside her.

The priest carried on by beginning to explain the terms and conditions of their marriage, and both Sweeney and Eleanor were listening intently from then on, the fact that they would soon be man and wife drawing ever closer.

The ecstatic bride and her gloomy groom continued to eagerly exchange their vows, completely entranced by one another. They had the majority of the audience's attention, apart from the odd few pews towards the back of the place...

... it was _uncommon_ for folk to lose interest at a wedding. There was always something to be gained in gossip from the whole ordeal - whatever had sidetracked those few rows of guests, must have been something absolutely _unpredictable._ The front of the church was completely oblivious to whatever was going on, but as the seconds passed, more and more guests situated at the back began to get distracted.

The ushers - who had been standing for what seemed like an eternity since the ceremony had officially begun - were fiercely whispering with a certain insistent individual. It was rather ineffective of them both, considering that a few heads kept turning back to spy on them.

None of the guests could manage to get a good enough look at the person who was rudely disturbing the ceremony. But from what a handful of them could see, they were dressed in a suit of mourning, yet another thing downright _disrespectful_ \- it was no wonder that the two ushers were starting to grow exasperated with the person. When a few more guests' eyes were averted from the couple standing before the alter, more people began to notice that the individual also had hold of something. They had wrapped it in a snug woollen shawl, all bundled up in their arms, holding it tight to their chest.

 _It was clear that they didn't care about any kind of authority or respect at this point._

As the violent whispers from the ushers evolved into distraught murmurs, the stranger side-stepped away from them, now slightly more visible to a few nosy witnesses.

Those few nosy witnesses soon widened their eyes with intrigue once their eyes set onto a small child who was stood beside the stranger - more alarmingly, one that was of Spanish descent. Apparently most of the townsfolk of Blackpool had never seen the sight of a foreign person before, because soon, another row had caught on to where all of the quiet arguing was coming from and each pair of eyes were unashamedly glaring.

As the priest's monotone yet booming voice bounced off of the walls of the church, asking of promises and consent to the two sinners stood side by side, the individual causing all of the commotion finally had had enough of the patronising nobodies trying to stop them from doing what they desired.

One of their pale hands snatched hold of the thick grey fabric of the young child's coat as they barged past both of the ushers, not uttering a word. They dragged the young hispanic girl behind them as they disrespectfully paraded down the aisle - the young brunette girl didn't seem bothered, her expression was indifferent (like she was used to such a thing) but her eyes were wandering all over the place in a curious manner.

The person was moving too swiftly down the aisle for anyone to pick out anymore details about them, other than the fact they seemed desperate to find a decent place to sit. As they neared the central row in the collection of pews, they looked over their shoulder at the child they were pulling along with them.

Many more guests turned their attention to the two interferers, though none of them spoke a word. The front of the church was still completely blind to what was occurring, and the majority of the audience prayed that it stayed that way.

"Where is he? Do you see him?" the adult intruder whispered hurriedly, earning a puzzled expression in reply. "The boy? The... _niñito?_ No?"

The uninvited guests finally paused by the middle row when they reached it, and the young girl finally winced to confirm the suspicions of the stranger - the girl hadn't understood a word of what they'd been saying.

They sighed with frustration, "Nevermind."

And turned their attention to their desired place on the pew, the young girl's eyes still flicking between the elaborate high ceiling and the stone floor beneath her little boots.

 _"Eyes front."_ the late-comer whispered loudly to the other witnesses, before pushing down the row of disgruntled guests who were uncomfortable about standing up during the ceremony - naturally they hadn't moved for them.

As they continued to blatantly walk past people to occupy the free space at the very end of the pew, it was apparent that the stranger's whisper hadn't been quiet enough...

At the altar, Sweeney had visibly tensed his shoulders for he'd heard their whisper as clear as day. He had that familiar insane sheen that flashed through his black eyes, which was always impossible to miss - he was sure that the priest had noticed.

He wanted to peer over his shoulder that instant to see if he'd imagined hearing such a voice, but Eleanor subtly sided up to him even more in order to clutch his hand tightly, knowing their marriage would have seemed forfeit if she allowed him to do such a thing. She knew that if he was distracted somehow - _from her own previous disaster of a marriage_ \- that it would cause the witnesses to make presumptions about Sweeney, and she couldn't have that when they were still trying to make good impressions.

The priest had paused what he was part-way through speaking for quite a while now due to the look Sweeney had given him, but he eventually continued in a cautious tone.

 _"... to love him and to honour him all the days of your life?"_

"I do." Eleanor answered truthfully in a confident tone, though the slight rasp in her voice gave away that she was slightly frustrated with how long the vows were taking - she just wanted them to have their union declared and leave. She'd missed the barber far too much.

As the priest quietly conferred about the situation of rings with the couple, the pews erupted with subdued whispers, like they'd been dying for some kind of interval... something that the uninvited guest, in particular, found _irritating._ What was even more irritating, however, was that a man sat directly in front of them had begun to tip his head back, forcing a drivel of soft snores to easily slide out of his throat.

 _He was completely asleep._

The stranger couldn't believe how insolent the man was, and glanced at the girl who was by their side and shaking her head with anger. Even the _child_ knew the man was being inconsiderate.

On the other hand, their annoyance could have been seen as _hypocrisy,_ considering that a soft trail of pants and snores drifted out from the small bundle that the adult held in their left arm every now and then. But it wasn't the same - the man's inability to stay awake was incredibly obnoxious, loud, and downright _embarrassing._

 _They'd have to do something about him._

"Where on _Earth_ is your groomsman, Mr Todd?" the priest murmured, his blue eyes picking out something off about the man stood before him. "It is _compulsory_ that you have one. You cannot be joined in matrimony without one."

Sweeney dug his right hand into one of the deep pockets of his suit jacket, fishing out a plain silver wedding band, regardless of what the priest had said to him. He was going to marry Eleanor and nothing was going to stop him from doing so.

"He didn't arrive, I'm afraid." he lied with a rather convincing look of disappointment, gazing down at the silver ring which was lying in the centre of his palm. In reality, he'd never had _(and never would have)_ a best man.

Luckily, the priest seemed to fall for his lie and expelled a huff of surrender, gesturing to him with his hand in order to allow them both to proceed.

Sweeney made no delay in turning to face his bride, withholding the urge to let out a shallow breath at the sight of her as their arms fell away from one another. He reached his right hand forwards, gently grasping hold of her right wrist to bring it closer to him. The brief twitch of a smirk reached his lips when he noticed how much her hand was shaking at his touch, and he met her wide-eyed gaze, internally enjoying every split-second.

His eyes dropped to focus on her knuckles instead, exploring them intently as the fingertips of his left hand slid across her skin. The cold metal band soon made contact with her ring finger, and she would have gasped if it wasn't for his warm fingers, which eased the shock of coldness.

It felt strange that such little actions from him caused her to become overwhelmed in all manner of ways. He was melting her with his actions, and due to that omniscient glint in his eyes, he knew _exactly_ what effect he was having on her.

"Eleanor Lovett," he began in his usual solemn tone, effortlessly causing her heart rate to spike with his deep pronunciation of each syllable. "receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

It was bizarre hearing those words spill out of him - in fact, even more bizarre that he'd _remembered_ what he'd had to say. Eleanor could see that he was dying to laugh at what he'd uttered - his eyes were filled with infectious mischief, but she knew he was holding back his amusement for the two of them.

 _They needed this marriage more than anything._

His hand briefly squeezed around her own, and she knew he only did such a thing because it was the most subtle way of politely asking her to carry on. When the warmth of his palm finally left her skin, she felt the new weight of the ring on her finger and could feel the tears coating the bottom of her eyes threatening to spill over.

But she swallowed back the urge to cry, smiling at her beloved instead.

She then moved her right hand, noticeably towards her the neck of her dress at first, but then she realised she hadn't placed her ring in her usual place for storing things. She heard Sweeney inhale deeply, like he was tempted to laugh at her amusing habit, and she didn't dare look at him because she knew she'd probably end up giggling.

She soon latched her finger onto his ring, which she'd discreetly tucked within the fabric band which bound her bouquet of flowers together. When she gently folded her fingers over it to secure it in her palm, she could see the priest's expression of uncertainty in her peripheral vision. There were more and more things about their wedding that were completely unorthodox, but the man of cloth saw no point in interrupting things now.

She started to repeat Sweeney's actions by taking gentle hold of his right wrist, only instead of focusing on her own actions, she held his stare. His eyebrows knitted into a slight wince when she slowly slid the ring onto his finger, and when she tried to move her digits away, his ring finger curled around them to stop her warmth from leaving him. She let out a gasp as a consequence, but she managed to pass it off as intentional by starting her final vow.

"Sweeney Todd," she spoke lightly, her voice only just above a whisper. "receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

His finger eased its grip on her, yet only so that he could thread all of his fingers through her own. He could hear the sound of her breaths raise in volume as he squeezed her hand tightly - he could almost feel the simmering excitement through the bones of her fingers as they clawed onto his own. Her brown eyes were shimmering with tears of joy as she stared back at him, wanting nothing more than to embrace him and feel his heart racing just as hers did.

"What God joins together, let no one put asunder." the priest declared, finally signalling the end of the ceremony.

As he went on to end the affair with a religious blessing, Sweeney and Eleanor blocked out all noise, living in their own bubble where it was just the two of them and their heavy breaths. They felt no different about one another - Eleanor thought it would perhaps change something about how she saw the two of them, but it really didn't. Their union just made her understand the fact they belonged together, body and soul.

She hoped Sweeney saw it that way too.

As the priest continued to prattle on in the background, yet another person wasn't paying attention either. The uninvited guest who had caused all of the disruption in the pews mid-ceremony had finally reached peak-annoyance now that the sleeping man's snores had reached crescendo.

They let out a deep huff and passed whatever they had wrapped up in the shawl over to the young girl sat beside them. The girl wore a worried expression, cuddling the bundle she'd acquired close to her chest.

The person then proceeded to lean forwards, reaching a coal-stained hand into their coat to find something. After a few seconds, they'd found whatever they'd been searching for and tossed it to the floor. They sighed in frustration, but it was likely that they'd purposely dropped the small item.

They bent down swiftly, picking the thin yet lengthy needle up in a pincer action with their thumb and fore-finger. They were wary of touching anything but the end-ballpoint, slyly and cautiously backing upwards from their bent position. They paused completely when they came face to face with the man, who was completely slave to slumber.

Conveniently, the man's neck was on show, meaning it was easily accessible. The stranger's expression darkened and they promptly pushed the needle into the skin just below the man's jaw, quickly withdrawing it just as quickly as they'd poked it in. They placed it inside one of their inner coat pockets, narrowing their eyes in thought as they sat back in place.

A few seconds later, the man's body slouched down into an idle sitting position, his chin tucked into his throat. Thankfully most people just presumed the man was still blatantly sleeping, even though his snores had subsided.

To the two late guests, his silence was a relief.

It seemed like the window of opportunity to kill the man had been a well timed one, considering that the church erupted into a closing statement of "Amen" in unison. The couple were finally married, and the church crowd finally applauded the couple's sealing kiss.

What the witnesses didn't pick up on however (unlike the uninvited guest, whose eyes gleamed with unusual optimism), was how desperate the kiss was... _passionate_ even. Neither barber or baker cared about how their kiss was perceived - in front of so many people, their honesty was quite _admirable._

They made no delay in linking arms and scarpering off down the aisle, the bouquet of carnations flying through the air like a bad-luck missile. As women towards the left side of the pews fought over it like they were a pack of rabid wolves, conversation between guests finally arrived.

No one seemed bothered that the newlyweds had already disappeared, there were more guests hounding the priest with questions about whether there was an after-service catering table. On this particular day, the townsfolk's greed was something both Sweeney and Eleanor Todd were thankful for.

As was the uninvited guest, who had anticipated questions from nosy witnesses, but they were too busy gossiping amongst themselves. They tried to hide their snort of amusement when the woman sat next to the man they'd just killed attempted to shake her husband awake.

They quickly turned to the little girl next to them and patted her on the shoulder. The two of them stood up in unison, like it was a code they often used when things became risky and they hurriedly made for the church doors.

As the culprit successfully made their getaway, the wife of the dead man cried out. But with so many people chattering, everyone just presumed the woman was overwhelmed with emotion.

 _The insistent guest and their sidekick with a language barrier had escaped scot-free._

Just like the bride and groom, who had been completely forgotten about by the majority of the witnesses. But they preferred it that way.

Eleanor was overjoyed that their union was finally official, though the two of them knew it had been sort of official ever since she'd become his accomplice. They could rely on each other and had knowledge of trust that no other ordinary couple would ever know of.

In the future, they would likely look back at their wedding as their perfect mask of purity. Or perhaps, the day they'd fooled their entire hometown. And they'd smile.

 _And they would smile even more when they'd remember that Tobias Ragg had been completely absent._

* * *

 **A/N Thanks so much for reading and waiting. I've taken longer because I wanted to make sure this was completely right before posting, and it definitely won't be this long until the next chapter, as it is already in the works. Would love to know your thoughts, thank you for bearing with me :)**


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